Flash Fiction Friday – Bullet

Reblog of a favorite Flash Fiction of mine.

English: Picture of a standard 'K Bullet' as m...

So I sat in a box for the last, oh, I don’t know, seven years?  Just sat there on a shelf with dozens of other boxes on other shelves with the others and I am finally free.
I don’t know who opened the box and put me in the chamber of freedom, but his fingers were fat like crinkled sausages and they smelled like shit. I guess some uprights never wash their hands.
“There you go my pet,” the upright says. “You are such a special little bullet. You were born to do great things.  You are going to change history, my pet.”
The upright talks a lot.
It’s freaking dark in here.  I have waited my entire life to get out of that damn box. I am a special bullet.  I don’t mingle with common bullets.
Seven years I have waited for this.  I don’t know what to expect. I just hear the voice.  I guess the voice thinks I can’t understand, but I can. I hear it talk about me.  It talks about my velocity, my speed and my distance.
It’s weird, you know? I don’t know what any of it means.
I can hear the upright speak as I sit here waiting for my moment of glory. He told me I was going to change history.  I don’t know what that means really…  but it sounds important.
Before the upright put me in here, it held me close to where the voice comes out.  It told me all these things.
“You’re so beautiful,” it says.
“You are the most special bullet ever, little bullet. You are going to make poppa so proud,” the voice cries.
I wanted to concur or validate the voices wishes. But what the hell, I’m just a bullet after all. A special bullet it tells me. But I don’t know what the means.  I don’t even know what my purpose is.
“Oh, special bullet. Be straight and true with your aim, young one.  Guide your soul into the heart of that bastard and save us all,” the voice screams.
The upright put me in something cold and long.  It’s dark in here.
Wait.  I just heard a loud bang and now I am zooming through the air toward another upright.  I don’t understand any of this.
Now I am in something hot, dark and wet. This is so odd.  I was happy in my box with the others.  I don’t feel so special anymore. Where is the voice?
I hear other voices now.  They are making high-pitched noises.  They are screaming, “He’s shot! He’s shot!”
My shell is gone.  I am now a flat piece of metal.
I still don’t feel special.

NaNoWriMo and the Proverbial Butt Kicking

So I am doing NaNoWriMo this year.  Yay me.  So far I am 36,209 words in.  I am super excited to be a participant this year and love the connections I have made with other Nanos.

I have been to two write-ins which are loads of fun!

Somehow through the whole NaNo thingy… I have to keep doing other non-writing things such as:  spending time with family, working at my full-time job, watching The Walking Dead (and football) … oh, and showering.  I always forget how important showering is!

My boyfriend gave me a bit of crap today.  I wrote over 2,000 words today and was freaking out because I wanted to reach the 40,000 mark today.  But he was right.  My mind was mush, my back was killing me and I am almost to the point where my plot has gone on strike.  Can’t have that.

I even am baking chocolate chip cookies!

We here in the household seem to be quite addicted to chocolate chip cookies these past few weeks.  Now, the three of us are also going to the gym (my daughter and I went today).  Maybe we think that if we do an extra fifteen minutes on the tread, the cookies won’t matter.  In the back of our little minds, however, we know…. those cookies matter.

Me? I am not freaking out about it.  I quit smoking the day NaNoWriMo started.  I hadn’t even realized that this was to be.  I mean, my boyfriend was nagging and nagging and nagging still. “When are you quitting?  Are you quitting soon? Darlene, is today the day you quit?”

“FINE!  I’ll quit the day after Halloween! All Saints Day!  How perfect a day to quit smoking!  All Saints Day!” Yeah, I freaked out a little.  Then it dawned on me.

Crap!!  NaNoWriMo starts on November 1st!  It’s all good though.  Apparently my seething tummy knots and unabated anger are doing my story rather well. 😉  Now, my family and the lady that followed me in the parking lot today to tell me I could “try a little kindness”…. they are singing a different tune.

Happy ROW80ing and NaNoWriMoing my fellow friendly writer peepazoids!

9/11 ROW80 Check-In

On this day it seems that my ROW 80 Check-In is insignificant compared to what today marks.  It was ten years ago today that our nation came under attack.  Thousand of people lost their lives.  Hundreds of people were heroes.

At this moment, there is television coverage and reflections on MSNBC.  I sit here, crying as I watch footage of people running for their lives as the Twin Towers come crashing down. The Pentagon mutilated. A band of heroes on Flight #93 who, in their bravery, prevented the deaths of many more Americans.

I’ll be doing my ROW#80 check-in tomorrow…

God Bless the fallen… we will never forget 9/11/01.

Sometimes Being Honest… Is Dumb.

A zebra crossing in Abbey Road, London. This s...
Crosswalks - not for display purposes only.

We’ve all heard the term honesty is the best policy.  Since we are tiny tots hell bent on getting our fair share of cookies and milk, we are taught to tell the truth, do the right thing… blah freaking blah.

But then one day, we are taught to fib, to lie, to bend the truth a little.  We are taught that even though little Rosie is being a total selfish brat, we should smile and play along.

Ok, so which is it?  And when did all this political correctness crap start anyway?

Yesterday I was driving up the street (no, not down) and this chic, probably in her early twenties, decides to start moseying across the middle of the street.  Never mind there are four lanes of traffic coming at her in both directions.  She didn’t dash, or jog or move in any expeditious manner.  She moseyed. Strolled. Snailed along.

So there I am cruising along doing about 2 miles under the speed limit and I and three other lanes of traffic have to slow down so she can get across.  In my sick, twisted mind I punch the gas for like less than a second (I know, I know, I am going to hell) and then let up.

I say to my boyfriend in the car: “Should I punch it?” As I give the car gas and then immediately let off.

My boyfriend asked me what the hell was the matter with me.  Of course, I got defensive.

“ME?! What the hell is the matter with her?”

“Wow.”

“Ok, so she gets to cross in the middle of the street basically breaking the law and if I hit her for whatever reason, I am the guilty one because I didn’t have control of my vehicle.  Never mind the fact that she SHOULD. NOT. BE. IN. THE. MIDDLE OF THE STREET!!” Yeah, I over-reacted … a lot.

It felt good to freak out, and I would never run someone over with my car.  I have certainly made a metal note to keep some thoughts to myself.  Because, believe it or not, sometimes honesty is not the best policy.

Maybe being politically correct does have some benefits, after all.

So, sorry lady for trying to scare the begeebees out of you.  On a “could have been worse” note, I could have been flying down the road yapping on my cellphone and not even seen you.

Is there anything that really gets under your skin that, looking back, you over-reacted to?

Ooh Ooh.. Growing Up..

When I was a teenager I thought I knew everything.. I guess most teenagers feel this way. I have a teenage daughter, and I see a lot of myself in her.

Remember when we were fourteen or fifteen and we thought our parents were idiots, totally uncool and basically, had no idea what they were talking about?  Yeah, that’s where I am now.  I find myself repeating a lot of the ideals that were told to me at that fork in the road age.

I remember my first heartbreak.  Ugh.  I was so devastated! I was totally head over heels in love with a boy that lived around the corner.. he was kind of cocky, super cute and really wanted nothing to do with me.. I am not sure why it was this last quality that attracted me most to this boy.  Perhaps it was the fact that my father ignored me for most of my childhood and since I couldn’t get his attention, I could try to get a boy’s attention.

Needless to say, he wanted nothing to do with me.  So I decided to date his older brother.  Yeah, not the best idea.  He was a really nice guy (ack!) and I just didn’t pine for him like I pined for his brother.  Strike one.  I dated the older brother for about three weeks and then the kid I crushed on decided to test my loyalties to his older brother.  He told his brother (I came to find out later) that he was going to flirt with me and that I would ditch older brother.  Younger brother nailed it.   He was pretty smart for a sixteen year old, and I was devastated when he said to me, “I knew you didn’t like my brother, so I tricked you.”  Nice, eh?  However, I did like his older brother.  He was tall and he made me laugh with his Peter Gabriel and Kinks impressions.  But his brother liked me too.

I was so crushed by the “trick” played on me (which was one of a few different boys played on me) that I had enough and decided that it was time to get on with it.  It was time to die.

I went into my room, I put on some Pink Floyd, took the razor blade I got from my dad’s top drawer and slit my wrists.  Extreme, I know.  But no one knew who I was.  No one understood me.  No one got what I was going through.  Certainly not my parents.  They were never really around at that crucial teen stage and it didn’t matter anyway.  I felt it was too late for me. I was screwed.

I still have those scars on my wrists.  They are a haunting reminder of how unhappy I was.  The pictures of me around that time (none of which I am smiling in) are haunting reminders as well. I now use those scars to remind people about depression and suicidal thoughts should they ask.  Not many do.

If I could go back and talk to myself, I would tell me that it was all going to be okay.  That I was going to grow up and be a beautiful woman so smart and too wise.  I would tell myself that everyone goes through  a heartbreak or two and that it is the heartbreaks, failures and things that don’t work out that make us wiser and keep us strong.  It is those things that help us to grow into strong, resilient individuals.  I would tell me to have faith, it will all work out.

It always does.

Picture courtesy of www.weheartit.com

Let Bygones Be Bygones

Meditation For Tuesday, February 22, 2011

When we are young we learn about disappointment, hurt and anger.  As we grow most of us learn tools to handle these pains and letdowns.  Those of us who do not learn effective coping tools wind up holding onto resentments that hurt our own well-being.  Holding onto pain from the past hurts our future.

Emotional pain sticks with us longer than physical pain.  If we fall down and skin a knee, we may cry for a moment, but we get up, brush it off and keep on trekking.  However, emotional pain burrows inside of us.  We sit and we dwell and we think of ways to get even or we manifest misdeeds done unto us, letting it damage us continually until we are full of hate.

In the movie American History X, Edward Furlong’s character says, “Hate is baggage.  Life’s too short to be ticked off all the time.”  When I heard that line a light bulb went off in my head. He used a stronger word.. but you get the point.

When we are angry at others, or full of hate, the only ones we hurt are ourselves.  Most of the people we are angry at long forget that we were ever mad at them in the first place.  Others never knew that they had upset us or maybe they did and didn’t care.

So there we sit, in our dimly lit room, or driving our car, stewing over the injustices done to us by careless people.

Get over it.  When you keep your anger, you give away your power.  You are letting the actions or words of others dictate your well-being.  Why would you want to give someone else that kind of control?

If you are so upset that you can’t see straight, write it down, scream at the wall or punch a pillow.  If you feel you really must let the person know how upset you are, write it down first.  It is important that you do this so that you can read it over a few times and let the situation sink in a little.  Often, we realize we are overreacting and wind up tearing the paper up and never saying anything.

If you feel you must say something, it is important that you get it in your head in a way that will be effective in communicating why you are upset.  Calling someone names and rehashing things that have long been talked about can lead to an argument and more resentment.

Meditation for the day:  Letting go of resentment and anger kindles my wellbeing.